Just For Tonight
by Moonlit Tides
Summary: With Jon having just announced his plans to sail for Dragonstone and leave Winterfell in Sansa's hands, the two try to come to terms with the changes that are about to happen and the emotions they feel at separating for the first time since they reunited at Castle Black. Jonsa one-shot based on 7x02. An alternate take on Jon and Sansa's goodbye before he leaves for Dragonstone.


Sansa enters her chambers, slamming the door closed behind her. Since winter has finally arrived, there's already a roaring fire in the hearth, which is Sansa is grateful for. Though the walk from the Great Hall back to her chambers is only a few minutes, she can feel the cold in her bones. Removing her cloak and shaking the stray half-melted snowflakes from her hair, she kneels down in front of the flames, extending her hands out so as to return the heat to her body quicker.

Her mind is frantic and unsettled, causing a ball of nausea to form at the pit of her stomach as Jon's words echo in her ears.

" _Until I return the North is yours_."

She shudders.

Since the day she and Jon reclaimed Winterfell he insisted that she take her place as Lady of Winterfell, but she would hear nothing of it. It doesn't matter to her that Jon is not a Stark by name, he is by blood - and more importantly, he is in her heart - which means there was no doubt in her mind that he should take their father's place as Lord of Winterfell. When Sansa heard the voices of the the lords and ladies of Winterfell chanting, "King in the North! King in the North!", she felt she was going to burst with pride and was completely assured in her decision.

Sansa has never expected nor craved leadership. Since she was a child she only wanted that which was promised to her by her mother and father - marriage to a prince who was brave, gentle and strong. She didn't care to have her own status or power, she only wanted love. A naive and childish desire that died the day her father's head was removed from his shoulders before her very eyes by the one she believed to be her prince.

Her experiences have perhaps also changed her opinion of being in a position of power herself. After all she has endured as a woman - the men she has been enslaved to and abused by - she can't deny the appeal in being a queen in her own right, of having power and agency and being answerable to no one. Her victory at the Battle of Bastards is just one instance that proves Sansa would also be worthy and capable of fulfilling her role as queen or Lady of Winterfell.

Had Jon not been by her side that day, she probably would have assumed her place as Lady of Winterfell because she could never place her faith or trust in anyone ever again. But it was _Jon,_ the one person left in the world with whom she could trust with her life. She didn't want or need to be in a position of power, because she knew that unlike Joffrey or Ramsay, Jon would not abuse his power so as to exploit her or exert dominance over her. He would treat her as an equal, as a _human being_.

He proved that today when he offered her Winterfell. It's an offer she accepted without hesitation because of the conviction with which Jon spoke and the belief he seems to have in her, but now she feels conflicted. The chance to show her worth, to step up and help her people in their time of need and help rebuild her home is one that means everything to her, but at the same time she is uncertain, afraid and filled with self-doubt.

Jon is his father's son - honourable and strong, an experienced military man who has led armies into battle - he was also Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. But Sansa, well...she's just Sansa.

More of Jon's words replay in her head.

" _I'm leaving both in good hands_."

Does he really believe that?

Having faith in herself has been key to Sansa's survival and is why even through all of the suffering she has only grown stronger and more resilient, but in this instance she cannot seem to summon even an ounce of self-belief or confidence. The only thoughts that are swimming around in her head are ones of anguish and dread.

 _Jon can't leave_.

How will the Winterfell survive without him? How will _Sansa_ survive without him?

She feels overwhelmed with regret at agreeing to Jon going to Dragonstone. It's a risk of unparalleled proportions which is why she protested so fiercely against it to begin with. Though Tyrion has proved himself to be trustworthy and kind in the past, that is not enough of a reason for Jon to risk his life. They know nothing of Daenerys Targaryen and there is not even a shred of proof that Dragonstone is home to the Dragonglass that Jon seeks. All they have is the word of a maester in training whom used to be a Brother of the Night's Watch, and although Jon swears that he is trustworthy, Sansa still doesn't feel very assured. Even if Sam's word is true, what if his sources are misinformed or incorrect?

Sansa left Jon in the Great Hall with his closest advisers, overwhelmed and unable to talk about the planned visit for Dragonstone. She wants to march back down there and demand that Jon stop this lunacy immediately and to remind him once again that his only place is here, but she knows that would be unwise.

Of the many similarities Jon shares with their father, his stubbornness is one and Sansa knows that any effort she makes to sway him will be in vain. She also doesn't have the energy for it. In fact, she swears she can feel a fever coming over her. There's a lingering coldness at the core of her bones, her stomach feels hollow and her head is heavy and foggy.

A knock comes at the door and on Sansa's cue, Brienne enters.

"My Lady, I just came to see if you were well and if there's anything I could get you."

"Actually, I am feeling a little unwell."

"My Lady?" Concern comes across Brienne's face in an instant as she steps forward.

"I'm sure it's nothing, but I think it's best if I get some rest."

"Of course," Brienne nods.

"I will fetch you some bed clothes, extra blankets and water. Is there anything else you need? I believe there is freshly made soup on the stove in the kitchens."

Sansa nods. "Soup would be nice, thank you, Brienne."

"My Lady."

With that Brienne bows her head and exits.

It's only minutes until she returns with what she promised. Though Brienne's strengths lie in combat, she is completely devoted to Sansa in every which way and is completely invaluable to Sansa who has grown very fond of her and finds her presence such a comfort.

The soup soothes Sansa's belly some and helps warm her insides, but still Sansa decides to rest knowing that it is the wisest course of action should she be coming down with a fever. Brienne assists her into changing into her nightdress and once she is in bed, covers her with extra blankets.

"Would you like me to stay until you fall asleep?" Brienne asks.

"No, thank you, Brienne. You may leave."

Brienne nods. "Sleep well, my Lady. I hope you wake feeling better. I will be in my chambers should you need anything."

"Thank you."

Sansa is so exhausted that she is asleep before Brienne has even left the room and with a small smile, Brienne exits, the only sounds in the room coming from the cackling fire and Sansa's steady breathing.

* * *

"So we set sail tomorrow at first light," Jon announces his voice projecting and bouncing off the walls of the Great Hall.

His advisers nod and mutter their concurrence.

"We need to prepare and ensure the ship is loaded with the necessary provisions for the journey. That means food, water and weapons enough for a crew of ten men. Now, you all have your orders and I'm enlisting Ser Davos here to oversee the preparations."

Jon gestures to Ser Davos stood beside him and Davos nods.

"Make sure you all get plenty of rest. It's going to be a long journey and we will need all of our strength."

With that Jon acknowledges his men with a nod and they all disperse.

"You're sure about this?" Davos asks once the men have cleared the hall.

"What do you think?"

"I think you know as well as I the risks involved in this but that that won't stop you from going."

Jon meets Davos' eyes. "You said it yourself. If the army of the dead get past the wall, we don't have enough men to fight."

"Aye."

"Then you have the answer to your question."

Jon gets up from his seat and walks with Davos for the exit.

"Where's the Lady Sansa?" Davos asks, causing Jon's heart to leap in his chest. "I expected she'd want to be present for the meeting."

Jon shrugs and dismisses Davos with, "Why should she be concerned with what we're discussing? She's staying here in Winterfell."

Jon's tone is sharp and cold, and Davos immediately senses that he has spoken out of turn.

"Of course, my Lord," Davos says. After a few moments pause he adds, "Or is it Your Grace now?"

Jon shrugs less concerned with titles and more concerned with Sansa. Davos is right, she would usually want to be present for a meeting such as this, so where is she? She left the Hall hastily after Jon announced his plans to go to Dragonstone and leave Winterfell in her hands, and he hasn't had chance to check on her because he was propelled straight into planning for the voyage.

If truth be told, he thought of nothing but Sansa during the two hours of the meeting. He was acutely aware of her absence and longed for her to be there. Though it is tradition for men to be involved in political and military affairs and for kings and lords to surround themselves with male advisers, Jon has come to rely on Sansa as being his most trusted adviser.

Even though he knows she would've no doubt protested against most of what was said during the meeting, he still wishes she had have been there. When he departs from Davos, he wastes no time in heading straight for her chambers, knowing he will be unable to rest until he has seen her.

When he arrives outside he lightly raps on her door three times before entering. He's immediately greeted with the warmth from the fire that hits him in the face and for a moment he thinks she isn't there, until his eyes drift to the bed.

He sees a flurry of red hair peering out from beneath a hoard of blankets and though he knows he should simply turn and leave, he can't help but creep closer. When he gets sight of her face, warmth radiates throughout his chest and the corners of his mouth immediately go up in the curve of a small smile. Her face is rosy, her expression peaceful and her breathing heavy but steady.

He finds himself enchanted by her as he grows ever closer. He bends down and plants a feather light, tender kiss at the center of her head. In such a deep slumber, Sansa doesn't even stir and although Jon feels compelled to stay with her, he turns to leave with the intention of returning later.

As he reaches the door he can't help but steal a glance backwards and he wonders how he will possibly find the strength to leave her tomorrow.

* * *

Sansa awakes and even as she's still returning to consciousness her thoughts are already of Jon. Stretching her arms above her head and kicking the blankets off her, she yawns and gulps down the cup of water beside her bed that Brienne left for her. She immediately notices how much better she feels and dismisses her earlier feelings as being nothing more than exhaustion.

Sleep is hardly something that has come easy to Sansa over the passing months. She's kept awake each night trembling with fear at every footstep she hears outside her door, expecting to see Ramsay's soulless black eyes grinning back at her taking pleasure in her suffering. And if it's not that that keeps her awake, it's the nightmares which are so vivid that it makes Sansa feel she is reliving it all over again.

She thought knowing Ramsay was dead would be enough for her to sleep peacefully at night, but she was wrong. Ramsay might be dead in reality, but he lives on within Sansa through the scars he inflicted on her.

In truth, Jon is the only one that helps keep the nightmares at bay and provides her with enough comfort that she can sleep. The first few nights she reunited with him at Castle Black were the first nights she slept for more than three hours straight in months, maybe even since she had left Winterfell. Uncertainty about what her nights will look like without Jon is just one of the many concerns she has about him leaving for Dragonstone.

Climbing out of bed, Sansa wastes no time in grabbing her cloak and heading outside. She may have been too cold earlier, but now she is too hot. Her skin is sweaty causing her night dress to stick to her and the under layers of her hair feel damp, particularly at the base of her neck.

She's greeted with the sight of a picturesque Winterfell, snowflakes fluttering from the grey canvas sky, flags bearing the Stark sigil waving in the wind and she inhales deeply, a smile coming across her face. It's a sight she never gets tired of. No place on earth can ever compete with home.

As though sensing her presence, Brienne emerges from her chambers and greets Sansa.

"My Lady, you're awake. How are you feeling?" she asks.

"Much better, thank you."

"I'm glad. But you really shouldn't be out here in the cold. It could bring the fever back on."

"I'll go back inside in a moment. Have you seen Jon?"

"I saw him a while ago heading towards the crypts."

Sansa nods, knowing exactly why Jon has gone there. Whenever he has something weighing heavily on his mind he pays a visit to their father. Imagining what father would do or say in Jon's position helps him make decisions. Though Sansa understands it, she doesn't necessarily approve. She meant what she said to Jon the other day - their father made stupid mistakes that lost him his head and Sansa can't bear for Jon to do the same. He needs to be wiser and more tactful.

"Come on now, let's get you back inside," Brienne says gesturing for Sansa's chambers.

Just as Sansa is about to turn to head inside she sees a flustered Jon come blustering out of the crypts, his cloak flapping behind him as he storms through the snow. Immediately Sansa steps forward and looks out to the courtyard to see Littlefinger exit the crypts moments later, his hand around his neck. Intuition tells her that whatever happened in the crypt between Jon and Littlefinger can't be good and she sighs deeply. As though he can feel her eyes on him, Littlefinger lifts his head and instantly meets Sansa's eyes. A complacent smirk comes across his face causing Sansa to shiver with revulsion and he bows his head in her direction, before taking off.

"I don't like him being around," Brienne comments.

"No one does," Sansa replies.

She decides to put Littlefinger from her mind and returns to her chambers with Brienne on her heels.

"Is there anything I can get you?"

"I'd like a bath."

Brienne nods.

"And could you also send for Jon? Invite him to my chambers to eat dinner in private. I'd like to have the chance to speak with him."

"Of course, my Lady," Brienne says.

"Thank you."

Sansa smiles gratefully at Brienne and she leaves to see to Sansa's requests.

The rest has provided Sansa with the lease of energy she hoped it would. Now all she wants is to speak with Jon.

A million thoughts are floating around in her head and though she's not quite sure which ones to share with him or how she'll even articulate them, she knows she has to try.

* * *

Jon can feel his heart pounding in his chest and his blood feels like red hot lava racing through his veins. His fists are clenched so hard that his knuckles are white and his body shakes uncontrollably beneath him. He has never quite felt rage like this before.

That fucking cunt Littlefinger.

Gods, he knows exactly how to push Jon to his extremes. How Jon retrained himself from strangling the life out of him right there and then is a mystery to him. Had it not been for the fact that he owes him a debt for their victory in the Battle of the Bastards, he's sure he would have.

 _"I love Sansa as I loved her mother."_

How dare he speak of Sansa that way. How dare he speak of her at all.

He's the one that sold her to the Boltons as though she were an object, one he had the audacity to believe he had ownership of. The very thought of it sickens Jon to his stomach. Accepting the dreadful abuse and exploitation Sansa has suffered is something he still cannot do. He wishes he could change it every second of every day, that he could turn back time and save her from having to endure such horrors, but he can't. All he could do is deliver Ramsay to her and he did.

Now Ramsay's dead, but Littlefinger isn't and Jon is filled with rage and hatred at that fact. Littlefinger is to blame for what happened to Sansa and that is something he can never forget nor forgive. And he had the nerve to stand there and claim to _love_ her? What the fuck does that cretin know about love?

Though it was never spoke of in Jon's presence, he's perceptive enough to know about Littlefinger's obsessive unrequited love for Catelyn. It was inappropriate and unwanted by both Catelyn and his father (which is of no surprise) and the transference of his feelings from Catelyn to her young daughter is _certainly_ unwanted by Sansa and Jon.

Gods, he'd give anything to kill him. But he's a king now and kings must be able to set their personal emotions aside for the sake of their kingdom.

Jon storms past the guards stood outside his chambers and slams the door shut with incredible force, unable to contain his anger. A sleeping Ghost jerks awake and instantly comes over to greet Jon, sensing his distress.

Ghost licks his hand and Jon scratches his head. "Hello, boy," he greets him with quietly.

Jon inhales and exhales deeply, attempting to gain control of his emotions.

Since the day he first saw Sansa at Castle Black he knew with absolute certainty that he would do anything to keep her safe, but he didn't quite realise just how strongly he would grow to feel about it. At first, his vow to protect Sansa was more as a result of Jon wanting to fulfill his brotherly duties and honour what Ned and Robb would wish for him to do, but now it was _so_ much more than that.

He doesn't just keep Sansa safe out of obligation, loyalty or duty to his family, it's for _her -_ and for him too. Protecting her is no longer a conscious choice, it's an instinct - something inexpiable that he feels deep at his core that explodes out of him whenever the need arises. He didn't _choose_ to grab Littlefinger around the throat and pin him against the wall, he did it without even a second thought. Just as he lost control the day of the Battle of the Bastards when he beat Ramsay until his face was a mess of red and purple. He never would've stopped either, if it hadn't been for the sound of Sansa's voice calling his name.

Jon's thoughts are interrupted by a knock at the door.

"Enter."

A moment later Brienne's face appears. "Your Grace."

Jon was still getting used to that. "My Lord." "Your Grace." "My King". All titles feel so alien and wrong to him, particularly after a lifetime of being called "the bastard."

"My Lady. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Lady Stark has asked me to invite you to her chambers to dine with her this evening."

Jon's heart skips a beat and he eagerly accepts. "I would like that. I'll inform the lords and ladies that Sansa and I shan't be eating with them this evening."

Brienne nods. "I will let Lady Stark know."

"Is she alright? Sansa? Only I came by her chambers earlier this afternoon and she was sleeping."

"She was unwell and believed she was coming down with a fever, so thought it was best she got some rest," Brienne informs him.

"But she's feeling better?"

"Yes, Your Grace."

Jon nods and smiles. "Thank you."

With a small bow, Brienne leaves and in a fraction of a second Jon's mood has completely transformed. All ill feeling has disappeared from his body and mind and the darkness that consumed him only moments ago has now been replaced with light.

He wastes no time in heading for the Great Hall to inform his people that he and Sansa will be absent from dinner tonight and armed with some treats from the kitchen, he practically skips to Sansa's chambers with Ghost close on his heel. He doesn't even think about the grueling topics of conversation about Dragonstone that are inevitably going to be brought up, because all he cares about is that he is going to be spending the evening with Sansa. Though he spends many hours of the day in her presence, it is so rare for the two of them to spend time alone together and it is something he so very much enjoys.

With three knocks at her door, Jon stands outside only ten minutes after Brienne has informed him of Sansa's invite to eat dinner with him. So eager to see her, Jon doesn't bother to wait for her to respond and enters.

He is greeted with the sight of naked flesh that turns his blood to ice and paralyses him. Though he doesn't want to, Jon can't help but stare at the stunning figure before him with porcelain skin and perfect curves.

Sansa has her back to him and when she realises Jon is in the room she hastily pulls her dress over her head to cover herself.

"S-S-Sansa, I'm sorry, sorry, I'm so sorry." Jon stumbles over his apologies as he rushes to exit the room, mortified at himself for violating her in this way. "I should've waited for your permission to enter."

Sansa is flushed and extremely embarrassed, but beckons Jon to stay understanding that it was nothing more than an accident.

"I should've locked the door. It's my fault."

"No, I shouldn't have- I really think I should just go," Jon insists not knowing how to recover from this most embarrassing encounter.

"Truly, Jon, it's okay," Sansa reassures him.

Jon doubts her and wonders if she is merely pretending she is fine when she's not. Silence extends between them and the air is thick with tension. Jon can scarcely breathe because of it and it is Sansa who makes an effort to break it.

"Something smells good," she says.

"Um...yeah, I had the cook make you some soup like the one you enjoyed at Castle Black. Do you remember?"

"Oh, yes," Sansa replies. "But I can smell something else, too. Something sweet."

"Lemon cakes."

Sansa's eyes widen as she practically squeaks, "Lemon cakes?"

Jon laughs lightly at her reaction. "I wasn't sure you'd be up to eating them. Brienne said you were feeling unwell."

Sansa nods. "I was, but I think I was just tired. A little rest and I feel fine."

"That's good."

"I'm certainly well enough to eat lemon cakes."

Jon meets Sansa's eyes and she raises her eyebrows at him playfully, then they both break out into laughter.

"I told the lords and ladies we wouldn't be in the hall for dinner this evening," Jon tells her. "I also asked for no interruptions-"

"Jon, you're king now. The people are looking to you to lead them, you can't dismiss your duties."

"If you'd let me finish, I was going to say I asked for no interruptions unless it's urgent."

"Oh."

"Yes. 'Oh'," Jon says, unable to stop the amused smile from coming across his face.

"What is all of this for?" Sansa asks. "The soup, the lemon cakes, the no interruptions?"

"Weren't you the one that invited me to your chambers for dinner?"

"Yes, but-"

"I wanted us to have the chance to speak privately."

Sansa swallowed, not liking the sound of that. She decides not to question him further on it, not wanting to know what it is he has to say to her yet. She wants at least a short amount of time to just be with him.

Sansa pulls two chairs in front of the fire and gestures for Jon to sit. He hands her some soup and she cups it in her hand and sips it. Though she had soup only hours ago, she enjoys it every bit as much as she did then, if not even more so. The flavours are entirely different and she closes her eyes and sighs, the memories of Castle Black flooding her mind. Since the day she left Winterfell, there are not many memories Sansa can look back on as being fond ones, but that day is one she knows she will treasure forever. Believing she would never again see a member of her family alive was a reality she came to accept, though it broke her heart and quite frankly, made her want to turn to ash just to be with them once more. So to see Jon's face looking back at her, to feel his arms around her holding her tight, warmth and flesh and beating heart against hers...it's an emotion she can't even begin to put into words. An elation and joy unparalleled by anything else she's ever felt.

Jon once again can't help but stare, unable to break his eyes away from Sansa. Her red hair glows from the flames of the fire and she looks every bit as peaceful and contented as she did that night at Castle Black. So strange that although she was the sibling he was most estranged from and knew least when they were children, once he was reunited with her he felt closer to her than he had to any other person - except perhaps Ygritte. For all their differences as children, their shared love for their family and ties to home were enough to unite them against all foes and though they butt heads on a regular basis Jon would have it no other way. Sansa is part of him.

Feeling his gaze on her, Sansa lowers the bowl of soup onto her lap and her eyes flit over to Jon. If any other man had walked in on her half naked only minutes ago, she would not allow nor feel comfortable to have that man sitting so near to her, his eyes boring into her so intently, but this is Jon. Not only does she trust him with her entire being, she takes comfort in his dark eyes which speak so much even when his mouth is silent. Their eyes remain on each other for a beat, both lost in the moment.

"No Ghost this evening?" Sansa asks.

"I left him outside."

"Aw!" Sansa exclaims. "But it's so cold out. Go fetch him inside," Sansa insists gesturing towards the door. Though Ghost is not her own direwolf and could never replace Lady whom Sansa still misses often, having Ghost around comforts her.

Jon goes to the door and calls Ghost's name. The large, direwolf enters and shakes his fur, droplets of water flying off in all directions.

"Oh, Ghost!" Jon exclaims the water having covered him.

Sansa chuckles lightly.

"Now, get over there and dry off," Jon tells him pointing to towards the fireplace.

Ghost obediently wanders over to the foot of the hearth and curls up near Jon's seat. Jon brushes himself down and wipes the water from his face with the back of his hand, then sits back down and pats Ghost on the head.

"I saw you leaving the crypts earlier," Sansa says, unable to refrain from asking Jon about it a moment longer.

Jon gulps a mouthful of soup down loudly and his eyes and mood change in an instant.

"And Littlefinger too," she adds.

Sansa pauses for a moment, her eyes fixated on Jon as she studies his reaction.

"Dare I ask what happened?"

Jon tenses his jaw and feels his heart rate spike, the mere mention of Littlefinger causing his fury to resurface.

"Don't talk to me about him," Jon spits through gritted teeth.

"Whatever he said, ignore him. Everything Littlefinger does and says is calculated. He's a manipulator who preys on a person's vulnerability and exploits it for his own gain or pleasure. He just wants a reaction from you. Be smarter than him, don't give it to him."

Jon knows Sansa is right, but he can't suppress or control the rage that Littlefinger evokes in him no matter how hard he tries. He does prey on a person's vulnerability and clearly he knows that Jon's is Sansa and if he didn't before he certainly does now.

"What did he say to you?"

Jon looks to her and shakes his head.

"What? What is it? What did he say?" Sansa questions more firmly.

"He said... He said he loves you." Just repeating the words makes Jon want to gag. "That he loves you the way he loved your mother."

The moment he's said it, Sansa takes a sharp breath in and her heart ceases to beat for what feels like an eternity. Though Littlefinger has made no effort to conceal his true feelings from Sansa, she still finds herself surprised to learn this. Not because he's admitted to his feelings, but because he chose to share them with Jon. Why would he do that?

Jon keeps his gaze on the floor and Sansa asks, "And what did you do?"

"What do you think I did?"

"Jon," Sansa says firmly, her intense eyes on him.

"I threatened him. Told him that if he touched you I'd kill him... And I meant it."

Sansa's heart resumes beating at a increased rate, the conviction of Jon's words and intensity of his gaze causing her insides to react in a way she's never experienced before. She doesn't understand what it means or why it's happening, and all she can do is just _feel_ it.

Completly unbeknownst to her, a whirlwind of emotion is present within Jon too, a feeling he has become accustomed to recently whenever he is in Sansa's presence. Naturally it is something he dismisses, overlooks or diminishes, unable to face the reality of having to analyse and decipher the reason why he's feeling this way.

Again, Sansa is the one to change the subject and asks how the meeting went this afternoon. Jon goes on to inform Sansa of what was discussed and his plans for the impending visit to Dragonstone whilst she listens intently.

"So the success of this plan lies solely on the shoulders of Daenerys Targaryen? The daughter of the Mad King?" Sansa scoffs. "I'm beginning to wonder if _you're_ the mad one."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jon asks.

"It means that this is a suicide mission!" Sansa exclaims. "You know nothing about this woman and everything you do know makes her an immediate threat. An army of Unsullied and Dothraki, three grown dragons! What if she perceives you to be a threat? An enemy? She could have you burnt to ash in a second."

"I said I would leave Winterfell in your hands and you agreed," Jon reminds her. "I thought that meant I had your support."

"Yes, well I-I-I wasn't thinking clearly. I was surprised. But I stand by what I said before. Jon, this is too dangerous and you're needed here at Winterfell. Your people need you." _I need you_ , she thinks.

"Like I said, I'm leaving them in good hands."

Sansa sighs and shakes her head.

"I've told you about the Army of the Dead, the Night King, the things I've seen..." Jon inhales deeply and puts his hand to his head. "If you'd seen them you'd understand why I have to do this."

Sansa doesn't have to see the Army of the Dead with her own eyes to know they are a very real and terrifying threat. And not just because she trusts Jon's word, but because she sees how haunted Jon is by the things he's seen, hears his screams from the nightmares that keep him awake at night and is witness to the burning desire to defeat them no matter the cost which consumes him every moment of every day.

"I know we have to defeat them," Sansa says her voice soft. "But what if Sam is mistaken? How does he know there's Dragonglass below Dragonstone?"

"Sam was one of my closest friends when I was with the Night's Watch. I consider him to be my own brother as much as Robb, Bran or Rickon, and I trust him with my life. And even if it turns out not to be true and there is no Dragonglass, Daenerys Targaryen still has men that can fight in our war. Men that we need if we have even a chance of winning."

Sansa opens her mouth to argue, but before she has the chance Jon continues with, "Everything we went through to reclaim Winterfell and anything we do now to rebuild it...it will all mean nothing if the dead aren't stopped."

At once Sansa is completely silenced, because how can she argue with that?

With a sigh Sansa asks, "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow at dawn."

Her eyes go wide and her heart sinks. "T-Tomorrow?"

"Aye."

"So that's what this was all about. The soup, the lemon cakes. You're trying to placate me before you go sailing off for Dragonstone."

Jon hangs his head and smiles, then looks back up at her and says, "Now, would I do that to you?"

Sansa frowns at him, her face serious, but can't help but break out into a laugh.

"I suppose there's no changing your mind then?"

"I'm afraid not."

"I should have known to argue with you would be a waste of breath. You are every bit as stubborn as father was."

Jon chuckles. "Yeah, and so are you."

"I am n-" Sansa goes to argue but stops herself mid-sentence, realising that to engage would only prove Jon's point.

Jon chuckles harder with amusement and Sansa shakes her head at him. "Oh, shut up," she snipes playfully.

Jon realises how much he'll miss this. Laughter, smiling, joy, are all things that only Sansa seems to bring out in him these days and he realises how grey his world will become without her around. Even if the separation is only temporary, the mere thought of it still causes his chest to tighten.

As though she is feeling the exact same emotions and thinking the exact same thoughts as he is, Sansa asks, "How long will you be gone?"

"Could be weeks, could be months." Jon doesn't add the possibility of "never" to the list, not wanting to accept that it's a very real and daunting possibility. He may be dead before the year is over or worse a prisoner forced to kneel to a ruler he neither chose nor wanted. "The voyage should last a week if the seas are kind, but how long we will be at Dragonstone is impossible to say."

"How many men are you taking with you?"

"Ten."

"Just ten?" Sansa asks, horrified.

"Any more than that will look like a threat."

"But ten? Jon, it's not enough."

"It's plenty."

This time Sansa relents more easily and doesn't even attempt to argue back. "And you have everything you need?"

Jon nods. "I left Davos to oversee that everything is ready for morning."

Sansa nods unsure of what else to say that other than, "Please, don't go. Stay, for me." But she knows she can't say either of those things because they are irrational, unjustified and selfish.

Silence fills the room for a few moments, the only sounds being the cackling fire and Ghost's light snoring.

"Are you sure about your decision to leave Winterfell in my hands? Do you really think it best?" Sansa asks, much to Jon's surprise.

He shifts in his seat so that his body is pointed towards her and says, "Would I have said it if I didn't mean it? You're a true Stark, the Lady of Winterfell. You won the Battle of the Bastards, you reclaimed our home yourself, earned the love of your people and now it is your turn to rule. I can think of no one better suited to the role and I would trust no one else more than you."

Sansa can't help but bow her head modestly and blush at the compliment. Jon's belief in her is enough to restore at least some of the self-belief she has been lacking in today.

"Thank you, Jon."

"You're welcome. Now we should finish our soup before it gets cold."

"I am finished," Sansa says holding out her empty bowl for him.

"Seven hells, you eat fast," he exclaims with a light laugh.

Sansa smiles. Jon lifts his tankard from beneath his chair and takes a swig.

"May I?" Sansa asks extending her hand out.

Jon pulls the tankard in closer to his chest and narrows his eyes at her. "Remember what happened last time at Castle Black."

Jon smiles fondly at the memory of Sansa coughing and spluttering from the repugnant taste of Castle Black's ale.

"Yes, but Winterfell's ales are much sweeter."

Jon relents and hands Sansa the tankard as she requests. She takes only a small sip and pulls a face of disgust just as she did that night at Castle Black. Jon finds it every bit as amusing as he did then and responds with, "Told you."

Sansa hands Jon back his tankard and announces, "I'll have Brienne fetch some wine."

"Since when do you drink wine?"

"Since now."

Jon raises his eyebrows at her.

"What?"

Jon simply shakes his head.

"What?" Sansa questions again more insistently.

Jon holds his hands up. "Nothing, nothing. I was just thinking that I don't want to be the one cleaning up your sick because you can't hold your wine."

Sansa scoffs. "And who says I can't hold my wine?"

Jon laughs. "I know you can't."

"Is that so?"

Sansa gets up from her seat, disappears outside and returns a few minutes later.

"Brienne's on her way to fetch us some wine from the kitchens, so we'll see who can hold their wine best."

"I'm supposed to be your responsible big brother. Not sure if letting you get blind drunk is part of my duties as your brother," Jon says with a shake of his head.

"I won't be getting blind drunk and besides, I'm not a little girl anymore," Sansa says standing in front of him.

Jon looks up at her and smiles. "I know you're not a little girl anymore."

"And seeing as you're leaving tomorrow, it's just for tonight. Right?"

Jon nods. "Aye, just for tonight."

Brienne comes to the door then, jug of wine in hand and Sansa goes to retrieve it from her. Jon sits with a genuine smile of unadulterated joy on his face and ponders on how this is the best possible way for him to spend his final hours in Winterfell. Though the feelings of dread and melancholy are already niggling at him as the thoughts of leaving tomorrow play on his mind, he is determined to push them aside to fully enjoy and appreciate this evening. After all, it will be weeks before he sees Sansa again. It may even be the last time.

 _No_ , Jon can't even bear to think it. The thought of taking leave of this world and of her, of leaving her a lone wolf, unprotected and without love makes him feel his soul is being torn in two. Every instinct in his body is screaming at him to not climb aboard that ship tomorrow morning, but he is duty bound and his honour compels him to do the right thing. Whether it is his responsibility or not, he will do everything in his power to save his people and the world from the dead. If that means being apart from Sansa for a long while, risking his life and his freedom, well, it's just a price he will have to pay.

* * *

Hours pass and Jon and Sansa's negative thoughts and emotions are completely erased from their minds as they engage in playing cards, chess and drinking wine. Sansa's flair for cards took Jon by surprise and brought their competitive sides out.

"I have many hidden talents that you are yet to see," Sansa bragged.

"We'll see how well you fair against me," Jon rebutted.

Much to Jon's dismay he failed to win even a single game of cards and eventually decided that they should switch to chess causing Sansa to accuse him of being a sore loser.

Any tension that may have been between them is obliterated and there is not even a moment silence as they chat and chuckle together. Their laughter bounces off the walls and fills the room, and even if it's just for tonight, they're happy. _Truly_ happy.

Although she's only had two glasses of wine, Sansa is feeling the effects proving Jon's point that she cannot hold her alcohol, though she's determined not to let him know that. She's never been drunk before and the new sensations are intriguing and pleasant. She feels lighter and more carefree. Though conversation and laughter always comes easier with Jon than with anyone else, it is even more so now and Sansa revels in the feeling of it. No wonder so many adults spend their days and nights getting drunk, she thinks, this is amazing!

"Checkmate!" Jon calls out.

"What?" Sansa frowns in confusion looking down at the chess board. "No, that can't be right. You cheated!"

"The proof is right there in front of you, I won. Clearly your hidden talents don't extend to chess," Jon teases.

"No, you must've cheated. Ghost, did he cheat?" Sansa asks looking over to the direwolf sat beside Jon. His red eyes shift from the chessboard to her and he tilts his head to the side as though he understands her question.

"See? Even Ghost agrees."

Jon titters lightly. "Ignore her, boy. She's just a sore loser," Jon says to Ghost.

"Hey!" Sansa protests, slapping Jon playfully on the arm. "I'm not the sore loser around here, you are."

Sansa cannot recall feeling so free since she was a child and she never wants this feeling to end. Right now nothing matters. Not the dead, Cersei, Daenerys, the Iron Throne, Littlefinger - none of it. All there is is here and now.

Nothing pleases Jon so much as being able to see Sansa this way. For the first time she actually seems her years and he even feels his too. He feels youthful and it is the only time he can recall feeling the weight of the Army of the Dead being off his shoulders.

The door knocks and Jon and Sansa's hearts sink, knowing their evening is likely about to be ruined. Sansa answers the door to reveal Ser Davos.

"Lady Sansa."

"Ser Davos."

Jon gets up from his seat and walks over to the door.

"Your Grace."

"What is it, Ser Davos?" Jon asks impatiently.

"I'm sorry to disturb you, Your Grace, I just wanted to inform you that the ship has been loaded and we have everything necessary for the voyage South."

Though Jon instructed Davos he should not be interrupted unless it was urgent, he simply thanks him for letting him know and Davos bids him goodbye, wishing him a night of well rest.

The moment the door is closed Jon turns to Sansa, her mood having been completely transformed. Her body is limper, the light in her eyes has dimmed and her face is somber. All Jon wants is to continue with their evening, but he can see that there is no salvaging it now. Davos has brought with him the dark cloud of reality and there is no escaping from underneath it.

"Shall we have another game?" Jon says walking over to the table and taking his seat across from Sansa, attempting to hide the blue mood that has suddenly overtaken him.

Sansa shakes her head, places her hands on the table and pushes her chair back, getting to her feet. The wine that was responsible for amplifying her feelings of contentment seems to have suddenly turned to poison in her blood stream and she is overwhelmed with sorrow. Usually she would have the resolve to hide her emotions and soothe herself, but in this instance she's unable to and cannot stop her thoughts from pouring out of her head unfiltered.

"Jon, must you go?" she turns and asks.

Jon sighs deeply. "We've spoke of this. I have no choice. I won't be gone any longer than a month. The time will pass by quickly."

"Not quickly enough."

"I have every faith in you, Sansa. You're the queen the people need."

"It's not me I'm worried about," she admits.

"Tyrion wouldn't have invited me if their intentions were to kill me. I believe that."

"And what if you're wrong?"

"Like I keep saying, it's a risk I have to take."

Sansa is not comforted by Jon's words and paces the room anxiously, her hand to her head. Jon cannot stand to see her so unsettled and continues to say whatever he can to soothe her.

"We have both survived so much, sacrificed and endured so much to be standing here right now. We will do so again. I believe that too. Winterfell will remain standing with me gone and-"

"But _I_ won't."

The words have left Sansa's mouth before she has chance to stop them and when she realises what she's just said she nervously meets Jon's eyes.

He parts his lips and hesitates to speak, as though terrified to say the wrong thing. "You've survived worse."

Though she knows it's true that she's survived so much worse, in this moment it doesn't feel that anything could be worse than this. The thought of parting from Jon is _breaking_ her.

Sansa hangs her head in her hands, overcome with emotion and embarrassed at her weakness. Jon steps towards her wanting to desperately close the distance between them and comfort her.

He stops a few feet from her and after a minute or so she looks back up at him, tears reflected in her eyes.

"I'm afraid, Jon."

Something inside Jon breaks to hear her say that. He doesn't want her to feel afraid, not ever. But though he can protect her physically, not even he can protect her from herself, from her own demons, thoughts and emotions.

"There's no need to be afraid. Why are you afraid?"

"Because you may never come back."

Jon is afraid of the very same thing. No, scrap that, he's _terrified,_ but he refuses to let Sansa see that.

"I told you, I'll be alright and I will come back. If I believed my life was in danger I wouldn't go."

She rolls her eyes and scoffs. "Yes, you would. I know you, Jon. You're honourable, loyal and kind. You don't care about any of this," she gestures around her. "Ruling Winterfell and being king is just something that was offered to you and you accepted because Winterfell is your home and the North is where you belong, but you never really wanted it. You'd risk yourself and give your life in a heartbeat if it meant defeating the Night King and Army of the Dead. That matters to you more anything else in the world."

Jon hangs his head and inhales deeply. "That's not true."

When he looks up to Sansa, her blue eyes are wide in wonderment and without a moments hesitation he steps forward and reaches his hand out to her. She steels herself, her spine going rigid as Jon's hand lands on her hair and sweeps it behind her ear, his hand resting on her cheek.

"I'll find a way to defeat the dead and then I _will_ come back to you. _I promise_."

There is such truth and conviction in his words that it makes her tremble. Jon keeps his intense gaze on her and they remain stood this way - just inches apart, so close they can feel each other's body warmth and the thud of the other's heartbeat - for countless minutes.

Jon knows he should let his hand drop down by his side and back away from her, but an inexplicable force keeps him rooted to the spot. He's paralysed, unwilling and unable to rip himself away from her. _What is happening to him_?

Sansa isn't sure if it's the wine, but she feels dizzy, as though her head is spinning off into infinity and the only thing that is keeping her grounded is the sight of Jon's dark eyes on hers, reflected with such devotion and the feel of his flesh against hers. Her eyes unwillingly flit down to his lips just at the very moment his go to hers and he begins to lean into her.

All breath leaves Sansa's body and she wonders if this is real or merely a dream. She knows she should step away and put an end to whatever is about to happen, but she _can't_.

"It's just tonight. _Just for tonight_ ", she thinks.

As Jon's face grows ever closer to her, he begins to lift upwards until his lips make contact with the center of her head. Sansa's entire body sinks and she feels as though she's taken a forceful blow to her stomach which makes it difficult to breathe.

Jon's lips linger on her hot skin and it takes every ounce of strength in his body to pull away from her. As he does ever so slowly, his eyes remain on her lips, and he feels a yearning so incredibly fierce that it makes him quiver.

When he finally meets her gaze it's just in time to see the tears that are falling from her eyes. Jon shakes his head and it physically pains him to see Sansa's anguish. He knew it would be difficult to leave her, but he had no idea it would be _this_ heartbreaking.

He tenderly wipes the tears from her hot cheeks with his hands and she lets her eyelids flutter closed, his touch making her ache.

"Jon?" Her voice is thick with emotion, suppressed sobs fighting their way through her throat. "Will you stay with me please? Just for tonight?"

Although in his heart Jon wants to say, "Yes, I will stay with you forever," he doesn't.

Instead he says, "Yes, I'll stay with you. Just for tonight".

Because despite what is in their hearts, tonight is all they have.


End file.
